


Detention Again, Mr. Stilinski?

by blueprint



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Frottage, Graphic Description of Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Student Stiles, Teacher Derek, Teacher-Student Relationship, no actual penetrative sex though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:43:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1578926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueprint/pseuds/blueprint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's an English teacher. Stiles gets detention <i>again.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Detention Again, Mr. Stilinski?

"Detention again, Mr. Stilinski?"

Derek raises his gaze from the stack of ungraded papers, due to be given back to students by tomorrow. The young student smirks at him, a playful quality in his stare.

"What can I say? Teachers don't like it when you just get up and leave school property midday. Go figure," he hitches his navy blue backpack up his left shoulder, jotting out his hip in the process, "The usual?" he asks. 

"Yup. One thousand words on why you shouldn't cut class," he tries to say sternly, but the boy amuses him to no end. It almost seems as though he wants to be here, like he wants to waste a perfectly good afternoon in an empty classroom with an English teacher just 2 years shy away from 30.

Stiles sighs. It isn't exasperated though, more so sardonic. Derek raises an eyebrow, "Is there a problem, Mr. Stilinski?"

"Stiles," he flatly states. "My name's Stiles."

Derek grimaces. He knows his name is Stiles, but he's a student and Derek's a teacher. The proper way to refer to him is by his last name. That is the proper, correct, professional way to address a student. "Okay-" he pauses, "-Stiles." 

Stiles' smirk grows wider and Derek's face grows sourer. He has to grade these papers and it's clear the boy is taunting him. He stands there for another ten seconds before assuming a seat out front. 

Derek tries to get back to his papers. He really does. 

But despite great attempts to stay focused at the task at hand, the sounds of constant slurping interrupt his train of thought. It appears as though Mr. Stilinski–Stiles, as he prefers to be known- finds his pencil's eraser so scrumptious; it needs to be sucked on.

It sounds so _obscene_. 

Derek stirs, keeping his gaze firmly averted. Looking absolutely anywhere but _Stiles' mouth_. His young, 18 year old mouth. He is _so_ wrong. "Would you please," he blurts out an unfinished sentence; the boy stops and looks at him, his stare very much startled. "Would you please stop doing that?" he finally finishes.  
Stiles sits up and takes the pencil out of his mouth, "Doing what?"

Derek stares at the offensive object, "That. That slurping sound," he says before going back to his yet ungraded papers.

"Fine," he says. Derek refuses to look up. 

Another fifteen minutes pass in silence and Derek is almost done. Stiles has been quiet, for the most part, sometimes muttering unintelligible words or giggling under his breath. 

When he does finish grading the papers, he stacks them up nicely in his drawer and arranges his stationary to appear more presentable. But then all he has to do is sit there and watch over Stiles. Derek tries his very best not to outright gawk at the student before him. 

He tries his very best. 

He tries. 

He spectacularly fails. 

 

He's attractive, that's for sure. His hair is perfectly messy and his eyes a tawny-brown tincture. Stiles looks up at him and smiles briefly, Derek quickly wards off his itinerant gaze. When he returns his stare, Stiles' is fixed to the essay on his desk. Derek swallows. He shouldn't be thinking how attractive a student is. Especially one that is 18, ten years his junior. Why is he calculating their age gap? Why is he an idiot? That is some midlife crisis shit right there. Has he reached his midlife? Whatever. Stiles' striking eyes flicker up again and for an instance; he startlingly resembles an angel. Derek is lucky the boy can't hear his decadent thoughts; he'd probably have him fired. And justly so. 

20 minutes left before detention hour ends but Stiles hands in the paper, his fingers lightly brushing Derek's as he does. He'd hate to admit it, but he shivers. 

He reads over the paper, not too intently, and sets it down on the desk. He looks up at Stiles and gives him a smile of approval. It's well-written; even though Derek knew the teen was spewing bullshit in essay form. "So it's okay?" Stiles asks. 

"It's great, actually. You seem to have a knack for writing," he replies truthfully. 

He smiles. Genuinely, a manner Derek wasn't sure possible on Stiles' lips. "Thanks, I write a lot. Mostly poems though." 

At that, Derek grins at him. Poems are his absolute passion. "Really? For how long? What style? Do you enjoy reading them as well? Do you have a favorite poet?" He spits out question after question. 

Stiles' eyebrows rise up in return, he seems quite overwhelmed. Derek nervously chuckles, "I mean, I'm sorry. I like poetry." 

_Idiot_. He seems to forget sometimes he's not a gawky 16 years old anymore. 

"It's fine," he smiles broadly, "Um. For about 4 years. I'm not as well versed in poetry styles, I'm afraid. I do enjoy reading other people's poems. Richard Siken."

"Oh, I know him! He wrote that poetry book… " Derek trails off as he scratches the back of his mind, trying to come up with the title.

"Crush!" Stiles beams at him, his smile as radiant as the fucking sun, "It's incredible, and I can just re-read it over and over again."

"I'm more into the classics myself. Yeats and Hardy are probably my favorite poets."

The conversion goes on for a bit. It's like they are having an adult conversation, as though they're just having coffee together, as though there isn't a 10 years age ga- _damn it_ , why did he have to remind himself of that. "That's great-" he interrupts Stiles mid-sentence. "-that you're interested in poetry. Not a lot of young people do nowadays. Why don't you get back to your sit?" he instructs. He's a teacher, and that's how teachers are supposed to talk to their students. 

Stiles seems unenthusiastic but obliges. 

The hour reaches its end. Derek can't pinpoint exactly why he's slightly disappointed it's over. "Right, Mr. Stilins-" Stiles glares at him. "-Stiles. You're a free man now. I hope you learned your lesson."

"Oh, I did," he says, licking his lips. Derek stares. Wrongful thoughts flood his mind and he has to mentally slap himself to _stop it_. Stop it right now. He notices that the boy isn't standing up, isn't making a bid for the door like most students do once declared free. 

"Uh-" Derek starts, not really sure what to say, or do. "You can go now." He says, perhaps he misunderstood his first attempt at a witty farewell.

Stiles nods, his amber eyes staring right into Derek's, "I know. It's just that I'd like to stay here. With you."

Derek gulps.

It all happens so fast. One moment he's processing what Stiles has said, the next he has a lapful of quite possibly the most gorgeous guy he's ever seen, being thoroughly and ardently kissed.

Derek's gob smacked. This cannot be happening. It honestly cannot, because this could get him _fired._

It doesn't matter that Stiles is the one who initiated the kiss, doesn't matter that he's the one who has his hands roaming Derek's chest. He's 28, Stiles is _18_. He should know better. So, quite reluctantly, he lightly pushes him back. "We can't."

Stiles pouts. "Why?"

He's adorable. That's just not fair. 

Derek tilts his head to the side. Did he really not know why? Stiles isn't underage, but this is still so, so wrong, and illegal, and—how could he not know, really? "Because I'm your teacher, you're my student. This is wrong." 

The fact that it sounds more like he's trying to convince himself rather than Stiles does not go unnoticed to Derek.

"So? I mean, there's clearly an attraction here. I'm 18. I'll be graduating in six months," Stiles leans in, his breath wafting over Derek's cheek. Derek shudders, the effect not seeming to be lost on Stiles who smirks, "Don't you want me?"

He does. He truly, indisputably does. But he also wants to pay this and next month's rent. He could not afford to lose his job anytime soon, not even for Stiles. "Mr. Stilinski, I think it's best you leave, right now," Derek replies in the sternest manner he could muster. 

Stiles snorts, hands coming around Derek's neck, "I know you want me, _Derek_ , there's no point in fighting it," he starts stirring in Derek's lap, his ass a perfect position over Derek's clothed cock. The boy is wearing his lacrosse shorts, Derek could-

Derek could just slip his hands into the back and have a handful of Stiles' ass, could get a finger to probe at his entrance _like that_.

He gasps when Stiles starts to _grind_ down in circular motions, "Fuck, Derek. Can't you feel how much I want you?" 

Derek doesn't dare replying. Because he feels Stiles' erection well, and he's struggling between pushing Stiles off roughly to grabbing his hips and pulling him _down_. Also roughly. 

Oh God.

Stiles moans and _oh shit._ He did not need to know the boy could make sounds _like that_ , okay? 

Derek's hands are limping by his side. He can't touch, can't go that far. He has to find the will to resist this beautiful young man. "Please," he pleads. "Stop."

He's both surprised and disappointed when Stiles does. He's still in his lap, still hard, they both are – but he doesn't move. The torture has ceased for now, though. 

He's just staring at Derek with a blank expression and it makes Derek nervous. "I stopped," he finally says. "Are you still sure that's what you want?"

No. He's actually pretty sure that's not what he fucking _wants_. 

What he _wants_ is Stiles spread out underneath him, shamelessly moaning as he prepares him to take Derek's cock. He wants to bottom out, feel how fucking _snug_ he feels around him, wants to fight to stave off his orgasm because the boy is _just too fucking tight._ He wants to start off slowly, hear Stiles sighing in content at being so full, before screaming out as Derek starts pounding into him. He imagines it'll take him a few attempts to find his prostate, but he wants to hit it on every fucking time after he does. He wants to go for hours, wants to hear Stiles beg and moan and grunt and scream. Wants to feel him clench around him. Wants to pinch his nipples, overload Stiles' senses with pleasure. Wants to kiss him. Wants rub his stubble all over pale skin. Wants Stiles to moan out his name when he comes. Wants to lick it all off his chest afterwards. Wants to spill his own load on Stiles' beautiful, perfect face. Wants to see that wicked tongue dart out to catch a few drops. Wants to-

He wants to _fuck_ -

He-

_Fuck._

He can't.

He wants to.

But he can't.

Because he's a mature adult, god _damn it ___, and he has to act like one.

"I'm sure, Mr. Stilinski. Why don't you get up and leave and we can forget all about this unfortunate incident?" 

He's proud of himself for not caving in to his desires, however great they are. 

Stiles sighs. "I don't buy any of that bullshit for a single minute, Derek. I know you want me, I can feel your eyes on me in class, when I'm here-I know, okay? And I'm telling you right now, it's mutual. Moreover, it's consensual. So, I'm going to ask again, are you sure that's what you want?"

Derek looks at him, really looks at him. He's been referring to him as a boy, but he's not. He's a man, with broad shoulders and big hands and muscular thighs. He's perfect. 

Derek groans and throws his head backwards, looking up at the ceiling. He licks his dry lips, the lingering taste of Stiles' own breaks his heart. Still looking up, Derek says, "I'm sure, Mr. Stilinski. Why don't you get up and leave and we can forget all about this unfortunate incident? "

**Author's Note:**

> Have some original fiction reworked to fit Sterek! Hope you liked.  
> [Tumblr](http://heysugarbaby.tumblr.com/)


End file.
